


Darkness on the Edge of Town

by littledaybreaker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledaybreaker/pseuds/littledaybreaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Daenerys is feeling trapped, being used as a pawn in her brother's attempts at "restoring their place in society" until she meets a man named Drogo who turns everything around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A Sadness Hidden in Her Pretty Face

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:  
> I'm not entirely sure what made me think "hey, you know what's a great idea? Writing a modern AU based on the ASOIAF universe" but there you go. 
> 
> This takes place in a modern setting but follows, loosely, with modifications for setting and plot reasons, Dany's basic storylines throughout A Game of Thrones. Because it's AU, I'm borrowing certain aspects from the television program and certain aspects from the books, because I can and I'm making such heavy modifications as it is. 
> 
> If you don't like AU or modern AU, this may not be the fic for you. Otherwise, enjoy!
> 
> Title is from the Bruce Springsteen album of the same name. All chapter titles are lyrics or song titles.

"I don't see what the big deal is." Daenerys smoothed down her skirt, fussing with the long strands of hair that fell over her shoulders and seemed to serve only to drive her up the wall. 

Viserys, for his part, looked like the mere idea that his sister couldn't grasp how important this event was was enough to knock him out. "Daenerys, making a good impression at your debutante ball is the single most important event in your life. How else do you expect to find a well-appointed society husband to restore our name back to its former prestige?"  
 _It's going to take a whole lot more than a husband to restore our name,_ Daenerys thought. _Like you not being such a crazy asshole._ But she would never dare to say that. She liked to poke her brother with a stick sometimes, but that was a big enough stick that even she wasn't going to go there. Instead, she mumbled, "What is this, the Middle Ages?" Which still earned her a clip to the side of the head. "Go," Viserys instructed, and so Daenerys went. 

Maybe at one point, like when her parents were alive, the debutante ball had actually meant something if you were a Targaryen, but as it turned out, no one wanted to talk to you when you were the silently unamused only daughter of a family with a reputation for losing their god damn minds, and they definitely didn't want to talk to you if you were perpetually flanked by your pompous brother, prone to fits of nonsense, so the debutante ball ended much the same way as the countless other social events that Viserys had dragged her to since she had turned thirteen: standing dutifully next to him, smiling stiffly and making uncomfortable small talk with the men her brother was introducing her to--businessmen old enough to be her father, which was just as well, given the fact that the boys her age didn't want anything to do with her, lest they catch the Targaryen crazy. She had accepted this fate as soon as she was old enough to understand: she would have a loveless marriage to one of those fat old men, or she would spend the rest of her life in her brother's house, adhering to his every ridiculous rule and doing his exact bidding on command without complaint. It was an easy enough decision, but it was still not one she particularly liked having to make.   
"Excuse me," Dany said, and took off. 

***

The first time Drogo laid eyes on Daenerys, he was fixing the latch on a gate. She was wearing a white dress and crying. He loved her immediately.   
"Why are you cry?" he asked, setting down his tools to sit next to her on the wall. "Sorry. English...not so good."  
The girl wiped her eyes, staring at him. "I feel trapped," she said.   
Drogo nodded, studying her. Her eyes were violet, and he found himself unable to stop staring. 

They looked at each other for several long moments until Drogo reached for her hand, breaking the silence. "Drogo," he said.   
The violet-eyed girl smiled and took his hand. "Dany."  
This time, it was Drogo's turn to smile. "Is nice to meeting you, Dany."

"Daenerys! Daenerys! What in the hell do you think you're doing?" A shrill voice--male, but shrill nonetheless--cut through their pleasant silence. Drogo felt--rather than saw--Daenerys' fear. "Oh no no no," she whispered, burying her head in her arms. 

But it was no use. A wild-eyed man, barely out of boyhood, with the same violet eyes and pale hair as Daenerys suddenly appeared in front of them, furious, and dragged her up roughly by the arm. "He's filthy, Daenerys," the wild-eyed man said. "How could you think about touching someone that filthy?"  
"We were talking," Daenerys began to explain, but the wild-eyed man reared back and hit her in the head.   
Drogo had seen enough. He got to his feet, and the wild-eyed man tossed Daenerys to the side, drawing himself up as big as he could to face Drogo. Even puffed up as much as he could be, he still looked tiny in comparison to Drogo. Pathetic. It wasn't worth fighting him. "If you raise hand to her again, I find you. I make you regret it. Okay?"

As he walked away, Drogo heard the wild-eyed man mutter "filthy Russian" under his breath before turning to shriek at Daenerys again. Drogo wasn't sure how, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was this: he would find his Dany again. And he would save her.


	2. Chapter 1: You Deserve Much More Than This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dany and Drogo meet again, much to Viserys' dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a warning for descriptions of physical and sexual violence.

A/N: Just warning for descriptions of physical and sexual abuse.

 _Everybody's got a hunger, a hunger they can't resist_  
there's so much that you want, you deserve much more than this  
but if dreams came true, oh wouldn't that be nice  
but this ain't no dream we're living all through tonight  
girl you want it, you take it, you pay the price.  
~Bruce Springsteen, _Prove It All Night_

Viserys was still asleep when Daenerys finished her lessons the next day at noon, and she could have sang, had it not woken the sleeping beast down the hall. That meant that she had at least two hours of freedom before he woke and began his reign of terror all over again.

She hadn't been to school in five years, since she was ten and she had started to get little breast buds and her period, at which point Viserys thought it would be better to homeschool her. She had never understood why, but she had learned not to question Viserys's motivations a long time ago.

Most of the families Viserys tried so desperately to keep up with—the Baratheons, especially—sent their chidren to private schools that Viserys would have never been able to afford, so Dany counted it as a twofold blessing that he'd pulled her out: for one, she didn't have to spend every day putting up with the likes of Joffrey Baratheon, whose favourite hobbies seemed to consist of yelling at his poor sister and trying to stick his hands up girls' skirts (Dany got enough of that at home, thanks), and two, she didn't have to be further subjected to her brother's begging.

It hadn't always been that way—the money thing. When Daenerys was little there had been plenty, but Viserys had spent it all long ago on stupid things and by the time Dany turned five, they had nothing to show for it and for the past ten years they had relied almost entirely on the kindness of strangers (and friends of their parents who took pity on little Dany) to get by. 

Dany poked her head around Viserys's door once more—still sleeping—and crept down the hall, putting on a light coat and grabbing her library card off the kitchen table.

She had first discovered the library the year after Viserys had pulled her out of school, stumbling upon it by accident during one of her long bike rides to escape his wrath, and had quickly come to relish in the sanctuary of the books and of the librarian, Mrs Stark, who always saved books Dany would like and never asked too many questions.

This afternoon she said hello to Mrs Stark as usual and then went straight back to her favourite section, ancient mythology, only to find it blocked off.  
“It's being painted,” Mrs Stark explained. “I saved a book about dragons for you.”  
Dany took the book, frowning, and settled into the window seat, contemplating the cover—a fearsome-looking dragon with magnificient yellowish-gold scales hovering off the ground and breathing fire.

Viserys insisted that dragons weren't real, that the books were trash, but in the dark warm places in Dany's mind, where she went when Viserys was angry or when he crept into her bedroom in the middle of the night when he thought she was sleeping, dragons were real, and they protected her, wrapped her up in their wings and kept her safe from all the evil her brother possessed.

She had barely cracked the spine of the book when she heard a familiar voice and her head snapped up. There was Drogo, talking to Mrs Stark about paint colours, wearing coveralls, his long hair tied back in a ponytail. He nodded at something Mrs Stark was saying and then headed back toward Dany's section. Dany buried her head in the book, pretending to be entirely absorbed in a passage about the origin story of dragons, hoping Drogo didn't notice her there.

But of course, Daenerys, with her long mess of white-gold hair, was not an easy person to miss, and Drogo noticed her almost immediately. “Dany?” he asked, looking curiously at her. “What are doing here?”  
Dany stared up at him, her heart hammering in her chest, even though she wasn't really afraid. “Um, reading,” she explained, holding up her book.  
Drogo nodded. “Is good to see you again.” examining the cover of the book, he smiled. “You like dragon?” he asked.  
Dany shrugged and nodded. “They're my favourite.”  
“Mine too. But I must go work. It is good to seeing you again, Dany.”  
“You too.”  
She gave him a little wave, and she couldn't figure out why, but as Drogo walked away, he was whistling to himself.

By the time six o'clock came and the library was closing, Daenerys was growing suspicious. Usuay it was only an hour or two before Viserys came and dragged her home. Perhaps he didn't care. That thought made her shiver. Perhaps he was planning an extra punishment for her sins That thought made her feel sick. She pulled on her coat and trudged reluctantly to the door.

Drogo stopped her in the parking lot. “I give you ride?” he offered, gesturing toward the red pickup truck parked in one of the reserved for staff parking spots. Daenerys hesitated. “I have to go home,” she explained.  
“It is cold,” Drogo pointed out.  
Daenerys shrugged. She got into the car.

They drove in silence for what felt like forever, until Daenerys finally asked, “Where are you from, anyway?”  
The corners of Drogo's eyes crinkled. “Croatia,” he replied.  
Daenerys smiled down at her book. “Not Russia,” she said, remembering.  
“No. Filthy Croatian.” He laughed, and it sounded to Daenerys like music. Then he asked, “How old?”  
Daenerys played with her hair. “Fifteen,” she said finally.  
An expression crossed Drogo's face that Daenerys couldn't quite read and then he gestured to himself. “Twenty-four.”  
Daenerys studied him. “You don't seem that old to me.”  
Drogo laughed. “You don't seem that young to me.”  
“My heart's older, I guess.”  
This time, it was Drogo's turn to study her. “I think you must be right.”

The rest of the drive went by in relative silence, but it was a silence Daenerys found enjoyable, the kind of silence that happened when two people were completely comfortable with each other.

“Here we are,” Drogo said once they pulled up to the house. The front light was on, which meant that Viserys was waiting for her. Daenerys swore under her breath. “Thank you for the ride,” she said.  
Drogo looked at the house, the dim glow of the front light, his expression hard. “Stay safe,” he ordered, and then turned and did something no one had ever done before: he kissed Dany on the cheek.  
Dany practically floated up to the house, a smile on her face.

Viserys was waiting for her by the door. “Who was that?” he asked. His voice was conversational, almost pleasant, and it was a trap. She knew it was, but Daenerys, still buzzing from the high of being kissed, fell right in. “A friend,” she replied, calmly hanging up her jacket and breezing past him.

Viserys caught her by the arm, twisting her backward until she yelped. “Who were you with?” he demanded, raising his free hand to her.  
Daenerys attempted to twist away. She knew it was fruitless, but something about the kiss had emboldened her, made her want to fight back for the first time. “I said a friend!”  
Viserys clipped the side of her head with his fist. “Was it the filthy Russian?” he demanded.  
Daenerys lifted her chin defiantly, daring him to hit her again. “He's Croatian,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.  
Viserys looked triumphant. “So you were with him,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “Daenerys,” he added, “what did I tell you?”  
Daenerys shrugged.  
“I told you,” each word punctuated with a blow to her head, her face, “not to associate with filth.”  
Daenerys gave in, crumpling into a ball and letting her mind wander, letting her dragon take her far away. This time he was hulking, with shining copper scales and, for some reason, a mane.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Viserys let her go. “Bed,” he instructed her. “And if I ever catch you out of this house again, you're going to regret the day you were born.”  
 _I already do_ , thought Daenerys, but she said nothing. Getting to her feet, she stumbled into her bedroom to examine the damage in the mirror.

She had a bloody lip and her eye was sure to be bruised tomorrow, and the cut on her eyebrow was trickling blood down her cheek, smearing the spot where Drogo had kissed her an angry red, making her want to cry. But she was alive. The dragon had done his job once again. She cleaned her wounds, ignoring the sting of touching them, and pulled on her nightgown, saying a silent prayer that Viserys wouldn't see fit to visit her tonight.

It wasn't until later, when Viserys crept into her room and she pretended to be asleep as he pushed up her nightgown and did his dirty thing that it occurred to her: Drogo was another word for dragon.


	3. One Last Chance To Make It Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daenerys's dragon comes for her at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in getting this chapter published. It took awhile to get going on it but I think I've got my groove back, so to speak. Warnings again for rape & physical violence...last time I promise.

_It's a town full of losers and I'm pulling out of here to win._  
~Bruce Springsteen, _Thunder Road_

“You are not to leave this house unaccompanied again,” Viserys said at breakfast the next morning. Daenerys met his gaze, folding her napkin into her lap. “Yes, sir,” she said.  
Viserys smirked. He hadn't detected her insolence.

Meanwhile, across the city, Drogo woke up with one thought: he needed to get Daenerys out of there.

It wouldn't be easy—he couldn't pretend it would be—but he had come to the realization that he had no other choice, unless he wanted the next time he saw Daenerys to be on the evening news, dead at her brother's hand.

He dressed for work as usual, tugging on his coveralls and braiding his hair just like he always did. He was working at the library again today, maybe Daenerys would be there again. He could offer to drive her home again and then not take her home at all. They could go anywhere.

As an afterthought, he tucked his pistol into the front pocket of his coveralls as he was walking out the door.

 

When Daenerys agreed to Viserys's stupid rule about staying in the house, she hadn't anticipated that Viserys wouldn't leave the house either. She had finished her lessons around noon and spent the rest of the day fulfilling Viserys's barked orders, until at 3:30 he announced he was going to take his leave (he actually said that, as if he was a lord from some bygone time and not a broke sociopath sponging off the kindness of others) and disappeared into his bedroom.

Daenerys waited until she was sure that he was completely asleep before gathering her coat and library card. She was hoping that Drogo would be at the library again—it hadn't seemed like he was finished, and maybe he would ask to drive her home again, and maybe she would tell him not to go home and they could drive far away and never come back. They could go anywhere.

No sooner had she touched the door, though, than an alarm started howling and Viserys appeared in the doorway, imposing even with sleep in his eyes.  
“Daenerys,” he said coldly, “I thought I told you that you weren't to leave this house.”  
He looked so imposing standing there that Daenerys shivered, lowering her head. “Yes sir,” she said, and this time, there was no insolence.  
“Come here,” he ordered, and Daenerys stepped forward, only to be yanked closer to Viserys, who then dragged her into the living room.

She had assumed that he was going to beat her, so she braced herself for that, only to be completely blindsided when he tore her dress off, shoving her against the wall. He must have been very angry to be willing to do his thing in the middle of the day. Daenerys closed her eyes and tried to ignore the burning until his movements slwoed and he began to make his kitten sounds, withdrawing. Daenerys could feel his sticky stuff dribbling down her legs, and involuntarily, she gagged.  
Viserys slammed her head against the wall. “Do you think that's disgusting?” he demanded, slamming her head against the wall once more. “Because it isn't.” Slam. “It's love, Daenerys.” Slam. “And that's a lot more than he'll ever give you.” Slam. Slam. Slam.  
Daenerys closed her eyes and focused on her copper dragon until she lost consciousness.

 

When Daenerys didn't show up to the library by six o'clock, Drogo's heart was hammering with barely-suppressed rage. He had killed her, he was sure of it. Drogo had been too late.  
As soon as the clock read six, he washed his brushes and said goodbye to Mrs Stark before rushing out to his truck. He may have been too late to save Daenerys, but he wasn't going to be too late to avenge her.

He arrived just as the ambulance was pulling away, and he parked his truck across the street, silently joining the small crowd (mostly of women) that had gathered in front of the house, listening. “Such a shame,” one of them said, shaking her head.  
“He seemed like such a nice man, too,” said another.  
Drogo regarded the house with a steely expression before turning to the woman who thought it was such a shame. “She is dead?” he asked.  
The woman gave him a pitying expression, shaking her head no. “Badly beaten,” she replied, repeating, “Such a shame.”  
The other woman lowered her voice. “Raped, too,” she added, her eyes widening.  
Drogo nodded wordlessly, crossing the street to get into his truck, following the ambulance as fast as he could without getting pulled over.

When Daenerys woke, she was in a clean white room that was not her own, a warm blanket tucked around her and every muscle in her body aching, her head stuffed with cotton, a machine beeping incessantly in her ear. _The hospital_ , she thought. She turned her head carefully to the side, expecting to see Viserys in the chair next to her. Instead, there was Drogo, still in his coveralls, sleeping with his feet up on another chair. She sucked in a breath, sure she was hallucinating, and reached out the hand that didn't have an IV in it to brush against his arm, startling him awake. “How did you get in here?” she asked, her voice sounding tinny and faraway in her own head.  
“I lie,” he replied sleepily. “How you feel?”  
She shrugged as best she could and then winced, and Drogo nodded in sympathy, sitting up, fussing with her pillow. “How long have you been waiting?” she asked.  
“Forty-eight,” he replied. “Rest,” he ordered, and she settled back against the pillows once more.  
“Minutes?” she asked, blinking and trying to reorient herself.  
“Hours,” he corrected, matter-of-fact.  
Daenerys considered this. “Oh,” she said softly.  
“Viserys is in jail,” he added. “We have to get out here.”  
Daenerys closed her eyes. “Take me away,” she said.  
Drogo kissed her forehead. “When you are well.”  
Daenerys smiled. At last, her dragon had found her.


End file.
